


Echo Chamber

by SpiritChilde



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, devil trigger smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-09 15:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritChilde/pseuds/SpiritChilde
Summary: Music has been your passion since the day you picked up a guitar, but after a tragic demon attack at one of your performances it left you unable to play music again. After some deliberation, you take on a secretary position at Devil May Cry as an attempt to find your inspiration again, and maybe to move past the trauma demons left on your life. There you meet the icy temperament that is Vergil Sparda, discovering that music is needed for healing someone other than you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy kids! Im finally writing a fic for Vergil, and I swear this will ACTUALLY be a slow burn this time. I hope you all enjoy it, though I will warn of mentions of blood and trauma in this first chapter.

_Chapter One_

_There is blood on your face._

_The temperature was fresh, warm, the scent...strange. Metallic doesn’t describe it quite right, nor does blood have a particular odor no matter how much your mind claimed it had. Seeing all that deep, profound red created in effect that would never seem to go away. Maybe it was the fact that it was your blood, or maybe it was just how much of it had splattered on your exposed skin. Wearing shorts that day was probably not the best idea, which could be said about a lot of the day’s actions. Mistakes beyond anyone’s control had occurred, things moving too fast and too loud. The pounding of drums had halted, guitar riffs silenced by more screams of fear than one needed to hear on a given day. The tempo rising, above the concert hall rafters and ringing with a sound so profound you would never forget it._

_The sounds of death._

_Why didn’t you run? The portal had opened right before your eyes, the sight of a demon’s hideous features a stark contrast to the delighted faces of the crowd. The riff on your guitar had halted first, fingers freezing and a cry of alarm ringing through the microphone. Every chance to bolt had come then, when the crowd had tried to scramble, screaming as creature after creature filled the empty space they left. Chasing, claws outstretched and teeth snapping. Security had fired bullet after bullet, but were quickly overpowered by so many writhing bodies of flesh and spikes. Your band had dropped their instruments, the microphone’s loud ring sharp on the ears as each set of feet scrambled to get off the stage, remaining employees leading the way to an entrance they could leave through._

_So...why didn’t you run?_

_The sight of Pepper, tripping on the wire of Boris’ guitar, landing hard on her side just as a creature clawed up to the stage. Brown eyes wide with fear, curls half hanging over her face as the demon started scrambling closer and closer. There was drool dripping from its maw, dozens of beady eyes staring with such a hunger that nothing else seemed comparable. Seeing what the others did to the fans offstage, their bodies mangled and bloodied...save her, you had to save Pepper. No one else was close enough, you were at the end of the line--it could be done, there was just no room for hesitation in any capacity. So you didn’t hesitate._

_Slow motion, why did it feel like slow motion? Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping its way through your veins, heart pounding louder than Walter’s drums and spurring you to act. Pepper had screamed, reaching for you just as the creature’s claws extended out, feet scrambling to be free of the cord tangling around them. Surely the stage manager and their crew should have taken care of hazards like that? Sloppy, a mess that could have been avoided, but you were in no place to point the finger of blame. The realization registered then vanished, eyes trained on your friend as you pulled her into a standing position, trying to run before the extended claws hit their mark._

_They hit something alright, but not what they were aiming for._

_In retrospect, you felt no pain. Which was odd, right? Surely it would have hurt, surely it would have been the worst agony of your life. A doctor told you afterwards that it was the adrenaline pumping through your system, almost like a protective barrier between you and the onslaught of pain. The only indication that something had been wrong was the fact that you had crumbled to the floor, vision spinning and Pepper flung forward toward the others just as they started running to your aid. What...was on your face again? Warm, red, metallic. There was a moment of dazed confusion, eyes gazing at your bandmates as they stared back with horror and screamed. Why were they looking at you like that?_

_Why couldn’t you get up?_

_Why was there red liquid on your face?_

_Your leg felt--what is that sensation?_

_You couldn’t get up. Weakness came next, sweeping over just as your fingers started to shake. Someone was firing a gun--several someones as a matter of fact. It was all you could hear for whatever reason, like your head was filling with water and roaring like a raging river. Numb, all over. You lost focus on several things, eyes glassy as Kraven and Boris lifted you, screaming your name as they tried to get your body out of the line of fire aimed at the demonic creatures. Everything should have been loud, right? The screams, the bullets, your friends sobbing and wailing for help as they tied something tight around your left leg. What was happening? Stopping the blood, you were told later--this action is what saved your life from blood loss. It was Celine’s belt that had been strapped around your red-soaked thigh, the white color a stark contrast against so much crimson._

_“Y/N…!”_

_Christ, you were so tired. Eyelids drooping, so hard to breathe...why was it so hard to breathe?_

_“Stay with us--eyes open, look at me…!”_

_You couldn’t even lift your head, vision swimming as Kraven’s hands grasped your face. Why was he crying? Why was everyone crying?_

_“Somebody help us…! Please…!”_

Your eyes flew open, a gasp leaving your lips and eyes staring at the ceiling of your room. 

The air was chilled from the air conditioner, low hum of it a small reminder of reality after something so...jarring. _Breathe, I need to breathe_ \--it had been over a year now, hadn’t it? Just over a year. Surely moving past something like this took time, but you weren’t the type to usually let things get you down so terribly. So used to being positive, so used to bouncing back... _one step at a time, right?_ _How ironic._ A sigh left your lips at the thought, arm slung over to block out the light managing to hit your face despite the curtains being drawn to avoid just that. Sunlight streamed from the windows, peeking through the cracks of your curtains in a defiant manner against the steps you had taken to keep the room dark. No avoiding reality for too long, the day loud and boisterous as always. 

You sat up slowly in your bed, pushing the layers of blankets off and shivering at the cold air. It was just one of many steps meant to ground you in the moment, back in the present time instead of the memories plaguing your tired mind. You scooted to the edge of the mattress, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning lightly in the quiet space. Another dream...you were starting to get used to them. This was the third night this week that the memory of that day came back, so clear compared to the time it had happened. Like watching it all from a video screen, one that was clear of the fear and energy that had driven the day’s events. You didn’t appreciate it, not even a little bit. Why couldn’t your head just move on from all that crap? It was making things so hard.

Regardless, you sighed, staring down at your thighs with a strange feeling of numbness. _As always._ Waking felt so disorienting sometimes, like the dreams you had were nightmares instead of a past event replaying like a cruel reel of film. Seeing the truth presented every morning was just another step in the process, wasn’t it? Acknowledging reality and building yourself up in kind despite how disconnected you felt from your own body. Because those were your thighs, weren’t they? Skin clear and smooth, still warm from sitting under your nest of blankets but slowly becoming chilled with goosebumps. You extended one leg, stretching the muscles of your calf and wiggling your toes experimentally--yeah, they responded to your brain firing off commands, felt real and functioned as they should.

Everything accounted for, on the right side at least. As for the left...well. 

_Breathe. You will be fine._

You took a slow, measured breath, forcing yourself to acknowledge the lack of flesh on the other side, empty space in place of where your left leg had once been. How could it still feel so strange to look at, even after dealing with it for over a year? Your brain tried to disconnect the image from your head, telling you that it still felt the leg there despite how it was very obviously gone--the demon made sure of that. It’s disgusting claws had ripped it off right above the knee, relentless and unforgiving in its pursuit of flesh and blood. To be honest, you’d rather have lost a leg than died at the very least and luckily that was the case. Surgeries, physical therapy, and several months of recovery later...you were functioning again, making the best of a bad situation, right?

At least...that was what you told yourself. Shaking the mental aspects of everything was a bit much.

You were determined to think otherwise, promising yourself that everything was fine as you pulled the sleeve onto the stump left behind. You were steady, right? Had been your whole life, cheerful and determined despite how some things had worked out. Pursuing music, joining the band, supporting them with every ounce of passion in your body...this was not the type of thing to break you down. But... convincing your stupid cranium of that fact was the hard part, wasn’t it? Another part of the process, one you tried to do as you slipped on the familiar chill of the prosthetic, making sure everything was secure and in place before rising to your feet. Balance found, head clearing, mind...getting there.

Learning how to walk with a new leg had taken some time, but...you had gotten used to it by now. Your steps steadied as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, eyes carefully passing over the purple of your guitar leaning against a wall in the room. I wish it didn’t hurt to look at something that used to make me so happy. It was of little consequence as your foot padded on the hardwood leading to the stairs, each one taken carefully despite how little of them their were. Everything was like that now...careful. One foot at a time, eyes watching until the landing was met and the kitchen within sight. It was only then that you allowed yourself to glance at the time, phone screen lighting up to show six messages for you to read, and two missed calls.

You winced. Ah. Like clockwork.

The messages were from your bandmates, two missed calls from your manager Mathius. You busied yourself with reading everything as you made coffee, breakfast consisting of a plain bagel with cream cheese and orange marmalade. Making something heavier would have kept you preoccupied longer, but you didn’t really have the motivation for it after having another dream of that day. Find comfort in simplicity for now. Munching quietly, reading the good morning texts from each friend with a hint of wistfulness and...guilt. 

It had been so long since you played anything with them...could you even consider yourself a member of _Eidolon’s Fall_ anymore? At least they still seemed to think so.

 _“Hey kitten. Good morning--unless you sleep in today, then good afternoon. Call me when you get a chance.”_ From Kraven, lead singer and angelic vocalist. A very wonderful human being, charming in every aspect and one of the most supportive friends in your life.

 _“Sleep in till noon and risk me coming by to check on you. And If I do, someone is getting a spankin’.”_ Celine’s message sounded vaguely threatening, punctuated by several kissing emojis and raised hands. Band bass player, and the one you knew the longest besides Boris. Which made sense, since they were siblings.

Boris’ message was next, a cheerful, “ _Good morning, sugar! How are you feeling?”_ With several hearts and sparkles. Trying to brighten your day, that was clear. Boris was always a ray of sunshine, you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you had learned how to play guitar together, and duel-played during most songs.

 _“Yo--just checking in on you, kid. Message me when you can.”_ Ah, there was the simplistic, gruff concern from Walter. Drummer, easily the oldest in the group just by a few years.

 _“Howdy killer, give me a call at your earliest convenience. And by that, I mean you’d better call me when you wake up. Worried about you._ ” Mathius must have texted when you didn’t answer the phone, checking in on you daily to see how everything was going. 

Out of everyone, he was the one pushing the most for you to start playing music again--and why wouldn’t he? As the band manager, his job kind of relied on it. You didn’t blame him, but...that callback might not be coming, unfortunate for him. The constant questions and update requests were growing very...very tiring. The other band members were trying to give you space, not wanting to rush your progress or force you out of that comfort zone. They understood...they did. And you loved them for that.

The final message was from Pepper, and the hesitation was obvious. Simple and soft, you could almost read it in her voice.

_“How are you doing? I’m here if you wanna talk.”_

A sigh left your lips, fingers typing out each reply in kind to their messages. Promising everyone you were fine, challenging Celine to not make threats she wasn’t willing to follow through with. You grabbed a cup of coffee after adding a ton of cream and sugar, making your way to the living room and sitting down in an armchair to call Kraven. Mathius wasn’t getting a call back, but Kraven was your friend and he was easy to talk to. He didn’t feel the need to tiptoe around your feelings and emotions, keeping things straight and to the point while also acknowledging you needed time to recover. Through this whole recovery process, he had been a much needed support and loyal friend, so after another nightmare...he would definitely be the one to confide in. 

So you dialed his number, sitting back in the chair and lifting the prosthetic leg to stare at it while the dial tone droned on a few times. It looked as close to a real leg as manufacturers could get, with pants on it wouldn’t even be noticeable--leggings was pushing things, but you had gotten away with it. Technology was advancing every day too, you wouldn’t be shocked if in a few years there was a more streamlined, superior model to try out. Either way...you weren’t sure when you’d feel comfortable enough wearing shorts again. Which sucked, especially considering how many clothes you adored that bared your legs. But...every time you tried to convince yourself to wear them out, something in your head kept shooting it down despite all the reasoning.

_Insecurity blows. I should not be insecure—I am a goddess, damn it. My body is a temple._

It was on that thought that Kraven finally picked up the phone, his smooth voice low and familiar, “Up before noon? What a change of pace.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping the coffee loudly and obnoxiously before you replied, “Its eleven thirty, smartass. And for your information, I never really sleep till noon--I wake up at ten and sit looking at memes for two hours.”

“Really? Thought you were avoiding social media.”

That made you wince, sinking down in the armchair as you thought about all the social media accounts you hadn’t posted to in weeks. You loved the small group of fans the band had, but all the worried messages were starting to feel...pressured. Going from “we’re rooting for you and love you” messages to “when will you be coming back? We miss you” messages. The guilt was just too much, and any excuses felt flimsy at best when you typed them out. And honestly, anything you could explain would only discourage people more--telling them that it was hard to play music after that night was just harsh, and adding the fact that you didn’t think you could play another concert was worse.

_This blows._

“I don’t need to look at my pages to scout memes,” You quipped with a huff, gripping the coffee cup in one hand and balancing the phone on your shoulder, “And for your information, I posted something a couple weeks ago.”

If rolling eyes had a sound, that was what Kraven made in response to your statement, “And what a post it was! A picture of Celine’s cat, zero updates on your condition--how _stimulating.”_

_He’s in a jackass mood today._

“Rude, Catsby is a very good boy,” You protested, staring at the empty cup of coffee in your hand before setting it on a nearby table, “You’re going right for my eyebrows already, slim? Are you and Boris fighting or something?”

That made Kraven snort a laugh, you both knowing full well that the two haven’t fought a single day since they started dating each other. Going on five or six years now, they completed each other in the best way and agreed on _everything._ It was almost disgustingly sweet, and you were a strange mix of happy for them and wistful about not ever having a love like that. Maybe someday, but you doubted it would be any time soon with how things had gone. Your head was still messed up from trauma, and until you did something about it there would be no dating anyone. Hell, even while in the band relationships had just paled in comparison to your passion for music, so thinking about romance felt...odd. It was definitely the depression talking, which you didn’t like.

Regardless...Kraven was talking again.

“We never fight--and for your information, I’m cranky because Mathius is up my ass,” Kraven complained, tone edging toward annoyance and anger, “And not in the fun ‘we need lubricants’ way.”

Ah. That made sense. As technical band leader, Kraven must have been taking on the brunt of the manager’s pushing and prodding. 

Which made you feel...guilty.

“Sorry…” You murmured, resting your chin on your knee and staring at a nearby wall, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” The vocalist firmly protested, sounding incredibly displeased at your glum tone as he continued, “You haven’t done anything wrong and I won’t have you feeling bad for it--Matt has always been the biggest dickhead in the west, and he’s just breathing down our necks for a new album ‘cause he thinks this year break is a bad thing. Some bands have taken longer so he can eat my ass--and not in the fun way.”

That made you smile a bit, just a tiny one. Kraven always had a way with words.

You pushed your hair over one shoulder, idly braiding some of the ends as a small gust of air pushed out of your lungs, “Yeah, well...he is right in a way. I should be trying more. But…” Hesitation bubbled forth, lodging the words in your throat as the night’s events came back. Blood, red, the sight of your fans in the front row mangled and…

_Breathing exercises, dummy. Stop thinking about that stuff._

You swallowed it down a bit, the food and coffee on your stomach not settling well as you murmured, “I had another nightmare last night. Another...y’know.”

And he did. There was a pause on the other end of your call, Kraven’s breath slightly audible as he took in the tiny voice you used, the fear bleeding through the calm facade you tried to keep up at all times. With Kraven and the others...you could only afford to be vulnerable so much, at least in your opinion. So many of them had come from bad situations, and your life had eventually found the most stability of them all after your grandmother passed away. 

You didn’t meet the woman until your teenage years, growing up alongside Boris and Celine in an orphanage, but she raised you after that and left behind a will in your name. What else could be done considering you were the only family she had outside of even older aunts and scattered cousins? You didn’t think there were any relatives that would be there to take you after your own parents skipped out to do god knew what, but the elder woman had found you somehow.

Her daughter, your mother, wasn’t on speaking terms with either of you, so...that stability was given to you and you alone. 

The group needed someone strong, steadfast, someone to keep them built up and motivated. That had always been your best trait, the ability to keep your chin up and help the others find their inspiration when they needed it. A motivator by heart and by choice. That hadn’t changed, had it? They still need you, but you just…

_It’s hard._

“That night again?” Kraven murmured, voice low and soothing as you tried to gather your emotions, “Have you taken your meds? Called the therapist?”

Yes and yes. You weren’t foolish when it came to taking care of your mental health--no one wanted to get back to being happy and ready to play music more than you.

“Of course.” 

Kraven released a puff of air-- you could almost imagine him furrowing those brows and nibbling on his nails. The usual thinking expression your friend always wore in times like these. Whatever advice he decided to give, you knew it was coming from a place of kindness and caring, and generally the best advice to follow when it was needed. The vocalist had been a part of that memory, after all--his face was still fresh in your mind, one of the only times you had seen someone as steadfast as Kraven shed tears of any kind. But he was also the only one to bounce back first, putting plans of action into place and becoming the steadfast one when you could not. The others took a lot of time to pick themselves back up after that day--hell, you were positive Pepper still hadn’t come back from the events.

It was part of the reason why you were reluctant to go back to band practice, to play anything at all. The insecurity was one thing, living through the guilt from all your bandmates was another. Each one of them was trying to shoulder the blame of what happened on their own shoulders, which definitely didn’t fly by you. Seeing their looks of guilt and despair when you showed the prosthetic for the first time was...rough. Another piece of the puzzle as to why you only wore pants now, not wanting to make things worse. It wasn’t their fault, they had tried so hard to pick things up and make everything normal. But the mixture of trauma, nightmares, and that lack of your passion made quite the cocktail, and no one knew how to fix it.

But...everyone was trying, and that warmed you more than anything else.

“I think...you need a change of pace, kitten,” Kraven finally settled on his words, popping you back into reality in an instant, “Or maybe a safe way to face your fears. Have you maybe considered visiting Redgrave for a day, just to get over the residual fear?”

The very mention of it made you cringe, slinking down into the armchair with your shoulders hunched. It had been in Redgrave City when that concert had happened--a small venue, but in the worst place at the worst time. You learned later that the reason demons appeared at all was due to a mysterious structure--a tree, according to some--appearing on the edge of the city. That tree was gone now, inexplicably dying and collapsing after a months time and leaving the city to clean up and recover. Your band had been lucky that they were far enough away not to be sucked off all their life essence, those closest to the behemoth dying after attacks from strange roots. A year’s time made a big difference, some even gaining the courage to move back and salvage a life in the rubble and decay. But...you didn’t know if you could.

Your throat felt dry despite the coffee you had sucked down, prosthetic leg seeming like a heavy reminder at the very mention of Redgrave city, “I...I don’t know if I can do that, I…” You stood up slowly from the chair, fingers tight on your cellphone as you went to get more coffee from the kitchen, “What if there are more demon attacks? I don’t really feel comfortable with dying.”

Kraven snorted, “You and me both, kitten. But Redgrave only gets attacks closer to where that tree was, and even then I hear a demon hunting business has been taking care of all that.”

_A demon hunting business? People had businesses like that? Is that normal?_

You frowned, pouring out another cup of coffee and dumping a metric fuck ton of creamer into it, “That’s a thing? Thought the military took care of all that kind of stuff.”

The rain of bullets from that night had not been lost on you, the sound was defending despite how muffled it had been by your swimming head. What were the qualifications to be a demon hunter? Did priests do that sort of thing? The only aspects of hunting demons your mind could think of was holy water and like...salt. Bible thumping nonsense, the sort of material you’d find in a cheesy horror movie they replay on movie channels at three am. You didn’t buy into all that nonsense, but if this was an official organization then who were you to argue it? The world was certainly becoming such a strange place, especially since the fall of the tree. Demon attacks had been a thing of rumors before that day, something you had only heard of and not experienced. It sucked that it couldn’t remain that way.

Kraven snorted at your disbelieving tone, the sound of him typing away on a keyboard following immediately after, “I just heard about it recently myself--Walter and I were discussing hiring a demon hunting group if we ever...well, _when_ we go on tour again.”

The way the vocalist corrected himself, firmness to his tone...it made you feel guilty, one hand resting on the edge of your kitchen counter and gripping tightly. He had far more faith in you than deserved-- _no,_ you corrected yourself, eyes closing and a careful breath sucked through your nostrils. You would bounce back from this, you were better than this kind of negativity. 

“It’s absolutely wild--the business is called _Devil May Cry_ , can you imagine?” Kraven sounded bemused, a loud cackle sounding from your ringtone as the link popped into your messages, “Bloody fuck, you still have that set up as my contact sound? Halloween was months ago.”

“First of all, our band is named _Eidolon’s Fall,_ Kray. We have no room to judge what other people name their stuff,” Not that he chose the name, nor did you for that matter. That honor went to Boris, who decided to base it on the name of his first dungeons and dragons character. Cliche, but fun--You shrugged, bringing the mug to your lips and sipping loudly, “As for the ringtone, I like it too much to change it. Give me something funnier and I may consider.” 

“I’ll work on that.”

He sighed, but you ignored it, tapping on the link and blinking at the article that popped up on your screen. Telling of a business called _Devil May Cry,_ members of said business seen traveling to and from Redgrave on an almost daily basis. They had played a big part in the clean-up as well, and were apparently now notorious for “odd jobs” and “demon hunting” due to the increase and normalcy of the creatures in everyday life. What a weird thing to capitalize on, finding a living in taking down monsters and cleaning up after the messes they made. You couldn’t formulate what kind of person would willingly hunt demons, but your mind continued to cling onto priests and things of a holy nature. Silly, but it wasn’t going away anytime soon. 

“Weird,” You commented, sipping more of the sweet, creamy liquid with a thoughtful expression on your face, “I’m jealous, _Devil May Cry_ sounds like a really cool band name--like something an emo pop band would have. Or synth metal.”

Kraven chuckled, the sound warm and comforting from the phone receiver, “Boris would hate it--remember his face when Walter suggested the name ‘Hells Fury’? We would have hit peak cliche, I almost vomited.”

The memory made you smile warmly, the day very clear and welcome in your memory. It felt like such a lifetime away now, everyone younger and brighter then. Still learning how to maneuver through life, through music and everything that came with it. The band wasn’t famous per se, but it was popular in Redgrave and the surrounding areas, a small following remaining dedicated and steadfast since the first album. I love remembering those days, everyone was so...happy. You fought a sigh, carding a hand through your silken locks while the warmth faded away. That prosthetic leg was a heavy reminder, one that would never leave no matter how much you tried. A minor setback--we can keep walking forward.

You looked at the article again, tapping on a few links to see where they took you. The business didn’t have a website, but it did lead to an add in the local paper--very simplistic, old school. _Who the hell actually took the time to read newspapers anymore when everything was so digital?_ The last human being you actually saw with a paper in hand was your grandmother, and she had passed when you were twenty years old. You shook your head, sipping the last mouthful of caffeinated garbage while reading just what the article said--Looking to hire a secretary. If interested please call the number below or visit our headquarters on the edge of Capulet.

Underneath was listed a number and address, the whole thing incredible short and barely noticeable. Like whoever put it in the paper didn’t really care if someone saw. You felt a brow raise, a bit of interest sparking as you read over it again.

“Says they’re looking for employees,” You commented idly, setting your empty cup in a nearby sink and turning off the coffee pot, “A secretary, but the ad is super tiny.”

“Really?” Kraven paused, the silence ticking on for a few moments as you gathered the phone again. When he continued, it sounded like he had thought of something brilliant, “Why don’t you apply, kitten?”

You blinked, stopping in the doorway and staring at your phone incredulously. Sometimes it was impossible to tell if your friend was joking or being serious, but...he seemed entirely sincere in his suggestion, downright proud of himself for thinking it up. Meanwhile, you were wondering if he had lost every marble in his head.

“Is Celine in control of the group brain cell again?” Your reply was drier than a dessert, yet dripping with sarcasm as you leaned against the door frame, “And here I thought you didn’t loan it out for anything but special occasions.”

“Glad to hear your comedy is still as sharp as ever,” Kraven didn’t sound amused despite his comment, which was a shame. You were on a roll this morning, and he was having none of it, “I’m being serious--hear me out a bit. Working there on the side for a few months might give you some inspiration, yeah? A change of pace, some time out of the house...plus what better way to move past a fear of demons than hanging out with some people who hunt them for the hell of it?”

Hesitation became your close companion once more, bouncing around your cranium like a computer screen saver. Once upon a time, you might have been absolutely jazzed to meet some real life demon hunters if only for the musical inspiration alone. Because, christ, what a job to have. Unfortunately, such circumstances didn’t exist inside you anymore, especially considering how close to Redgrave Capulet was. Not to mention the danger facing said demon hunters on a daily basis--what was stopping demons from wanting to attack where they set up base? Could demons even form thoughts that coherent, hold grudges? Your ignorance was definitely showing, but you doubted there was a manual or guide on demons anywhere that wasn’t quoting from the bible or those really shitty horror movies again.

“I...don’t know about that, Kray,” You hedged, nibbling anxiously on your nails despite how hard you kept trying to break said habit, “Working at a demon hunting business seems like a really good way to get killed by demons.”

“As a secretary? In a building far away from all the fighting?”

He was trying to poke holes in your logic- _-damn him._

An annoyed sigh left you lips, accompanied by a spike of aggravation, “I’m being serious, Kraven. I bet demons target places like that, and I just...I…”

_Why can’t I just admit it?_

_Say it. Say that you’re too scared to risk that._

_But...what if he’s right? This fear isn’t going away with you sitting at home moping about._

Kraven released a slow exhale, as if he somehow sensed exactly what your mind was doing. There was some jostling of his cell phone for a second, like he was repositioning himself while those wise thoughts gathered together. What were you supposed to do in this situation anymore? Recovery was so close, so tantalizingly close to your fingertips yet always out of reach. You wanted to go back to how things were before, to be positive and cheerful...happy. _I was a cheerful person, damn it. I still am_. Convincing yourself felt so hard now, like a weight resting on your shoulders and constantly whacking against the back of your skull like a nagging child. You found yourself looking at the prosthetic leg again, wondering why it was so difficult to accept despite all the hard work you had done.

You had nothing against prosthetic limbs--you could walk! You could still play your music, thank god. With time and effort, dancing could return too, maybe even running. And yet...maybe it wasn’t the leg itself bothering you--it was all the memories it contained, the trauma, the blood, the months of agony. Every other terrible event you had shrugged from your shoulders like dust, brushing it off and walking forward with your head held high. There were five other people there to support you, after all. But this time...things felt different, and no matter what you did that sensation wasn’t going away any time soon.

You wanted things to change. You wanted to get better.

“I know, kitten. I know it’s hard, and you don’t have to do anything that pushes you too far out of your comfort zone,” Kraven replied softly, soothingly. Reverting back to his gentle side at the sound of how distressed you had become, “But...sitting in that house isn’t helping you, is it? The therapy is only doing so much, and forcing the music won’t help. We...we miss you a lot, I just wanna help you break past this wall of fear in any way I can.”

Damn him for being right. As much as you loved your grandmother’s former home...it was rife with reminders of your own failure. Every piece of clothing you used to wear, every instrument and notepad you used for music and song writing. Even then, holding your phone close and staring across the living room you spotted one of the band’s CDs sitting on the coffee table. An old one, the cover showing each of you smiling and crowded in for a silly group photo when things were...better. More naive. When did seeing something that once made you so happy start to sting this much?

It wasn’t right. You hated feeling like that.

“...Okay.” You mumbled in response, sliding down against the wall and plopping on the living room carpet with a low thud. What was the harm in just stopping by, right? Even if you didn’t take the job, even if things seemed too strange you could at least say there was an attempt, ask some advice from the demon hunters themselves? Besides, if...when the band went on tour again after all this madness, having special bodyguards would be wonderful.

_I must have lost my mind._

“Okay?” Kraven sounded confused, tone questioning at the heavy sigh you released.

“Yeah,” The hesitation still showed in your tone, but the exhaustion was slipping through as well. The culmination of months sitting in the house moping, of ignoring the instruments and dodging hangouts with the band. New excuses each time, all equally scummy, “I’ll check the place out, you dork ass loser. Hell, I have nothing going on today--even if I don’t take the job, maybe talking to some demon hunters will help? I’ll give them our business card.”

You still had fifty of them tucked into your wallet at all times. Mathius made sure of that, drilling it into your skulls that marketing was more important than anything else. Which you didn’t give a damn about--getting close to the cluster of fans _Eidolon’s Fall_ already had was at the top of your priorities before all the tragedy started.

Regardless.

“...!” Kraven sounded surprised by your reluctant agreement, a gusty breath crackling through the microphone. You heard him start typing again, more than likely messaging the other band members about the situation and looking up things about Devil May Cry, “Do you want me to drive you there, kitten? I’ve got nothing going on today, Boris and I can--”

You rolled your eyes, slowly rising from the floor with a wince of pain. Getting up was a lot harder than getting down, that was for sure, “Don’t worry about it--I saw Boris posting about your date yesterday, the one you have planned for this afternoon? I can still drive fine enough on my own, you two have fun, damn it.”

There was no hiding things from you. Despite avoiding your own notifications and messages, stalking over your bandmates’ pages to see how they were doing was still valid and healthy. Maybe.

_Fueled by boredom? Definitely._

Kraven cursed at your words, muttering under his breath angrily, “That flighty little--”

“Hey,” You chidded him lightly, “Don’t be too mad at the boy, he’s easily excited and he isn’t a psychic.”

If he was, maybe things might have worked out a bit differently. Minus one missing leg, and with better security at the concert.

Kraven let out a gusty sigh, anger draining easy enough with just a little bit of reason. Besides, he couldn’t stay mad at Boris for any length of time for anything, “I know I know...If you’re sure it’s fine, just keep me posted at the very least. Message me when you get there and let me know how everything goes, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

You nodded despite the fact that he wasn’t in the room to see it, gripping the phone just a little tighter in your fingers. As teasing as you tried to sound, the anxiety was still there and ever present. Sure, this was a nice step in a new direction, an opportunity to learn some useful things and make strides toward recovery. But that little voice of alarm at the back of your head would not shut up, and it was starting to grow aggravating. You were tired of moping, tired of sitting around waiting for your head to fix itself damn it. _This is not who I am, this is not like me._ What the hell was the point of letting something like this beat you, especially after all the other bad shit you dragged yourself and the others out of? Screw that.

So you stood, swallowing several layers of worry and residual fear as you said as steadily as possible to Kraven, “I’ll catch you later, slim--make sure to give Boris a kiss for me.”

_I miss him, I miss all of you. But...I can’t come back to music yet, not until my head is on straight._

Kraven let out a low breath, his tone warm and soothing when he replied to you, “Of course, kitten. Keep me posted, please.”

“Of course. Love you.”

“As we love you, Y/N.”

You hung up with a tap of your finger, leaning against a nearby wall again to gather your courage as the remaining traces of his affectionate tone rang out. Silence was far less welcome, and you came to realize it was a lot easier to commit to things when Kraven was there to be your hype man, his steady voice like a beacon through the doubt. But...it was a lot harder when he wasn’t actually talking. If only it was that easy to get your musical motivation and confidence back--sitting in a room to jam while the band boosted your energy sounded like the ideal scenario, but alas...they had tried that. Positive influence just wasn’t putting a dent in the fear, which made you mad in an odd way. Prickling on the edges of aggravation and frustration.

The feeling persisted as you made your way up the small flight of stairs, flicking on the bedroom light and staring at your room. Lined with boxes on the far corner, the hidden contents of your various instruments and books making life a little less pressured when you got up in the morning. That purple guitar, however, remained propped against the wall--the only reminder you allowed. It’s smooth, purple surface made your eyes linger for a moment, hands remembering the feeling of holding it when music flowed into speakers and pounded through the air. The last time you held it...the guitar had felt so heavy, like a stranger. Especially after months of not playing due to physical therapy and stress.

_If I tried to play now, I bet I’d be rusty._

“Why am I like this?” You muttered as you passed it by, heading into your closet to grab an outfit for the day. A pair of leggings, ones that hid the prosthetic well enough and a pair of boots that stopped at the knee. Tops were a lot easier, a simple tank top and jacket picked out and slung on before you headed back down to find your keys. Being fully dressed provided some semblance of normalcy, like a veil over the events that transpired a year ago. Legs looking normal, but each step still a little heavy on the left side. Standing too long would make you ache, and the stump needed time to breathe so you reminded yourself to do that when needed.

But that was of little consequence, at least when the anxiety got rolling again. The thoughts were loud when you grabbed your keys, pausing at the front door and leaning your head against the hardwood. You just had to stop by, right? Head into Devil May Cry and ask about the job, get a feel for it and see if they would be willing to talk a bit about demons as well. It all sounded so simple when Kraven was reassuring it, but...what now? How did you work through this many layers of bullshit?

_By opening the door, and stepping outside._

_And from there...we take our chances, don’t we?_

Positivity in the face of trauma, right? At least that’s what you convinced yourself, squeezing the keys in your grasp before pushing open the door.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this came out so late--my laptop is acting up a bit

_Chapter Two_

_Why am I doing this? Why am I still going here?_

The drive to Capulet was an hour long, not nearly enough time for you to get through all the thoughts and doubts banging around your poor cranium. Driving used to be cathartic, damn it. Something done to relax, to free oneself from troubles and worries in the pounding bass of the car’s stereo and through the wind flowing from open windows. Sadly, doing the former stopped being an option after the incident with your leg. Music didn’t provide relief anymore, only serving to make you feel lonely and nostalgic in ways that brought all the memories back. Which sucked, because listening to music used to be the best coping mechanism, one that made you so happy and free. It was why the band had been formed in the first place, why learning to play a guitar freed you from so much stress.

But silence had its own downsides. It left your apprehension free to dig in roots, watered by empty space between the sounds of the engine running and wind gusting through open windows. Thoughts of where you were going, and with what purpose in mind left you growing steadily more anxious as the drive lasted on. That hour felt both like an eternity and far less time than needed, which left you feeling even more dazed about the whole situation. Was this really the best idea, coming to this place to meet absolute strangers in some jaded attempt to suffocate your own trauma? To bring inspiration and motivation back? It seemed so logical when Kraven said it, but now you were having doubts considering just how far-fetched it sounded. Maybe turning around was the proper thing to do, maybe continuing therapy would help in its own time. 

Problem was you didn’t want to disappoint your band members anymore.

They were being so patient, so caring. How many different scenarios had you turned down in this similar way? Getting to the midpoint of the process before turning tail and running back to the safety of your home. _Too uncertain, too afraid._ You were sick of crawling back into bed, heart aching and prosthetic feeling like a heavier and heavier weight when it was removed every night. If this followed through, if you managed to make it to this place and talk to the devil hunters working there...well, even when nothing came about it then at least you could say an attempt was made. It felt less like going to accept a job offer and more like scouting out some strange, mysterious unknown that promised to be the key to all the solutions. Strange, especially since it definitely wasn’t.

Anyway.

Before long you were turning off the interstate onto side streets, buildings rising up on either side. This part of town was far more Gothic in design, less of the modern housing from your neck of the woods. Many abandoned shop fronts passed by your car, houses that definitely didn’t look lived in for quite a few years. _Yikes, this was a bit shifty._ Capulet wasn’t very well known all things considered, one of the numerous towns either ravaged by poverty or demons themselves several years ago. Upside was that the rent on a lot of these buildings was dirt cheap, downside was that practically no one wanted to move into places of this caliber. Minus Devil May Cry itself, obviously.

You knew right away when the building approached, the bright red neon sign a far cry from everything else around it. There was plenty of parking space considering how very little people lived in the area, your car coming to a slow halt right in front of the store and settling while you tried to calm down. Engine off, deep breaths taken- _-you could do this, right?_ This was definitely the place, as off-putting and strange it appeared to be. Honestly, what was to be expected from the devil hunting headquarters? A church? Normal house? An office building? There was no handbook for this sort of thing, and you made the mistake of setting up expectations in the first place. 

Regardless, you tried to swallow down the hesitation and worry in a desperate attempt to build yourself up. Kraven had expectations for you, they all did. And each moment you waited was another moment everyone’s carriers were forced to stay on hold. Interests would wane, fan support would eventually fade with time if you weren’t careful. And with the popularity of _Eidolon’s Fall_ being on the rise at the time...this setback needed to be taken care of, and fast. Your hesitations be damned, this wasn’t happening anymore.

You just wished your dumb head would listen.

 _Self-deprecation isn’t helping,_ The reminder felt firm despite the glum thoughts, your hand reaching for the door handle and popping it open with a firm click, _Time to wake up and face the music, kitten. This is meant to help me, remember?_

You kept trying to tell yourself that as you left the solace of your vehicle, one hand gripped tightly on the cell phone and the other a fist at your side. _Baby steps--only way to go is forward, right?_ Would be easier if that particular limb wasn’t so god damn heavy. You winced as your weight settled on it, looking down briefly after shutting the door to make sure it wasn’t obvious that it was a prosthetic. Between the boots, leggings, and the length of your jacket...your legs looked downright normal. _My legs ARE normal_ , you corrected yourself, frowning at the train of thought and feeling a bit disappointed at its course, _losing a leg doesn’t make me strange in the slightest, it doesn’t make me different._

That was the truth, you knew it well.

The doubt managed to be swallowed down a little bit, your heart thudding quietly against your ribs as you locked the doors on your vehicle. Shifty neighborhood, fairly okay car--no chances taken. No offense to Devil May Cry of course, you just didn’t really want to risk losing anything inside, like the various CDs or essentials that were kept in the back seat in case of emergencies.

Regardless, you managed to pry yourself away from the symbol of familiarity, feet dragging as you approached the double doors of the building itself. The sun was still out, half obscured by clouds that seemed to hint at a storm coming later, which wasn’t a surprise--your phone had long alerted you to the potential weather threat, so this definitely wasn’t a bad omen. Screw that, you didn’t fall into such silly superstitions, especially not when some of your best days happened during storms. Weather brought forth so much inspiration, after all.

At least...it used to. 

You sighed, stepping up to the doors and pausing as you debated whether to knock or not. Was this the kind of establishment that one could just stroll into? What if you did and caught someone in a situation that wasn’t yours to see? Christ, your head just would not settle down at all, playing through every bad scenario and making you want to turn and walk back to the car. You were never like this before, never full of so much hesitation and worry. _Just knock and get it over with, the worst you’ll get it embarrassment. You can live with that, right?_ Seemed easy enough, and once upon a time it would have been.

There was faint music playing within, someone was definitely home. You swallowed, raising the hand that wasn’t holding your phone and rapping it firmly on one of the double doors. 

There was an audible sound of someone moving inside, the music quieting down a bit. A brief pause filled the air, making you a tad bit more nervous before a voice called from within.

“Come on in…!”

Well, there was some relief. You let out a large gust of air, steeling your nerves a bit more before gripping the door handles and pulling them open. Forward and steady, you reminded yourself, staring around warily as you entered the new area with a hint of curiosity mingling in the mix. This place was definitely not what you expected, not by a longshot. Nor was the person waiting inside, sitting at a messy desk with his feet kicked up in a tell-tale posture of laziness. It certainly didn’t look like the business of a demon hunter, nor did he seem like one himself--the whole space was on the messier side, pizza boxes stacked on the floor near the desk and items scattered here and there. Any semblance of order seemed incredibly lacking, a thin layer of dust visible on the floor as you let the doors close at your back. 

You blinked owlishly, meeting the gaze of the apparent demon hunter as he stared with a hint of surprise. It was pretty clear you weren’t what he was expecting, but then again your own expectations weren’t met either. A far cry from priests or what your mind had conjured, this man looked a bit rugged, wearing a black shirt covered by a red leather jacket with black jeans. Unshaven, hair a bit tousled but face handsome nonetheless.

Hell, the vibe he carried reminded you of some of the older musicians you had met while touring--like a rugged metal guitarist, one with a lazy smirk on his lips and an air of non-commitment as he sat up to eye you curiously in the doorway. You straightened up, shoulders firmly squared and heart hammering lightly at the fear of the unknown as you struggled to find anything to say in greeting.

Luckily, he picked up the slack. Head tilted to the side a bit, mouth quirking up in a grin as he said in a friendly tone, “Hey there--how can I help you, sweetheart?”

His casual use of things like sweetheart made you a bit wary, but he didn’t seem to mean it in a condescending or creepy way. There was a comforting note in his expression, like he could sense how nervous you were to be there in the first place. Which wasn’t shocking, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights.

“U..um…” You cleared your throat, taking a few measured steps forward and trying to find your sense of manners again. This was a business, and you were setting up to be a bad first impression, “I saw an ad in the paper for secretary work, so...I came to ask about it, if that’s okay?” 

Could have called first, but you were afraid doing so would throw off the burst of confidence it took to get here.

Regardless, the stranger didn’t seem bothered. Merely surprised, mouth popping open and brows threatening to touch his hairline as he took in your words. It confirmed your suspicions a bit--that was the face of a man who didn’t really expect anyone to answer the request of said ad, and it showed plain and clear. Something about that was kind of funny, and a bit concerning all things considered--why put it in the paper if they weren’t expecting someone to apply for the position? Then again...working for a demon hunting company did seem a bit far fetched, not to mention the risks that would come with it.

“Really?” He asked incredulously, scratching the back of his white-haired head as the chain underneath him squeaked a bit, “Well...huh. Damn. Uh--” The man stood up, grunting when the motion made a few of his joints pop in protest. It didn’t take much to guess that he must have been sitting there for a while. You watched warily as he started rummaging around the desk, looking for items unknown while continuing on, “Didn’t really think anyone would show up to be completely honest. You got any prior secretary experience?”

Cutting right to the chase? _Was this an interview?_ You shifted in place a bit, fingers tapping rhythmically on the back of your phone as you hedged, “Uh...Technically? Not in an official capacity, but I learned how to organize files when taking care of my Grandmother’s legal affairs after her passing.” 

And when the band was still starting out, you handled all the legal funds with Kraven’s help until Mathius was hired on. But this stranger didn’t need to know that yet.

He released a little “huh” at your response, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled out a file from a drawer. There was a thoughtful expression on his face for a brief moment, like the white-haired man was deep in thought before a grin spread across his lips.

“Good enough for me--you’re hired.”

_...What?_

Shock could not have been any more obvious in your expression, mouth popping open and eyes staring at him in absolute disbelief. Did he just hire you on the spot, with barely any information given and no paperwork? Your idiot brain left behind anything a normal job might need to even fill out an application, maybe on purpose if you were being completely honest. Hell, he didn’t even ask you name and was already declaring that the job was yours to have. Were you hallucinating, or had that really happened? 

Your mind completely scrambled, leaving you floundering for a decent response but not managing a single one at all. Honestly, there was nothing to base this scenario on, no other job you had over the years being gained in such an easy, bizarre way. You had been prepared to come here, maybe chat a bit, be turned away after having no references and no papers, but...no such luck.

This was so fucking weird. The man didn’t seemed phased by your shock and lack of response, turning away and starting to pull out files from random locations to set them on his desk. The lack of organization was almost disgusting, papers strewn about and things littering the table top in a messy manner. You needed to get yourself together, he clearly had a game plan already in mind while you were lacking in several bits of information. There were so many questions, so many things you needed to say after him just hiring you on like that, but your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth.

“U..um…!” You stammered, hurrying up to the desk and clearing your throat meaningfully, “E...excuse me, but are you sure…? You never even asked my name--Hell, I didn’t bring any paperwork with me, no references…!”

Your inquiries didn’t phase him, summoning forth another shrug of his broad shoulders as his calm eyes turned to meet yours.

“What’s your name, kid?” He sounded amused, like he was asking the question just to appease you in some strange way. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, one that you weren’t sure made you uneasy or not yet.

Regardless, you bit down the exasperation, tone a bit confused as you replied dutifully, “M...my name is Y/N.”

“Good,” He smirked, extending a hand over his desk to shake yours in greeting, “You can call me Dante, I started this humble little establishment myself so I guess that makes me your boss. As long as you don’t mind being paid under the table, paperwork shouldn’t be an issue.”

 _Wow, this was all very shocking._ You shook his hand in a daze, his grasp warm and firm before he turned away again. Dante, the founder of Devil May Cry--he was definitely bizarre. Paying you under the table was just an added oddity, especially with how cut and dry the whole scenario had been. Most companies wanted a paper trail, wanted to do background checks to make sure that they weren’t hiring a criminal or something like that. Such things clearly didn’t extend to Dante, the white-haired male going about his task like it was no big deal. Kraven was absolutely going to lose his mind when you told him about this, that was for sure.

“Th...that’s no issue,” You replied meekly, holding your phone to your chest and trailing behind him a bit as he moved about the room, “Um...Are you sure this is okay? To just hire me on the spot like this? It’s just a bit shocking, is all, you barely asked me questions and I...um…”

Why were you contesting this so heavily? This was a job you acquired with little to no effort. Most people would kill for such an easy opportunity. 

But you had a job--the issue now was breaking past the trauma that kept you from it.

Dante let out a little hum at your question, turning that charming smile on you again as he chuckled, “Trust me kid, in this kind of business you learn not to ask questions,” The man sized you up for a moment, leaning lazily against the front of his desk and stroking the stubble on his chin, “Like why a lovely lady such as yourself would want to work as the secretary for a demon hunting company in the first place, right? Just as long as the work gets done I don’t really mind, my brother is the one who insisted we hire someone to get things more organized in the first place.”

_Brother? There was another person like him here?_

You paused at his words, feeling a bit fidgety again as his gaze held yours for a moment. What he said confirmed what the article had claimed, what everything had mentioned about Devil May Cry in general--this was in fact a demon hunting business, which was absolutely bizarre in its own right. Not to mention his inquiry about you, and what made you want to take the job in the first place. It hadn’t been apparent before that such a thing would be strange or suspicious, but in retrospect...yeah. Yeah it was. There were plenty other places that were far more normal and less dangerous looking for work, yet here you were with your own agenda in mind. It almost made you feel guilty, like all of this was under false pretenses.

But you had come this far, and you couldn’t very well turn back. Nor could you tell him the truth of the matter, the truth lodging in your throat like barbs and refusing to move.

Instead you let out a light sigh, rubbing your arm idly as you mumbled in reply, “I see...Well, I do have my reasons but...they’re a bit personal. I swear I’m here to work hard, I just...” You hesitated, eyes raising to meet his again as you continued softly, “Do you... really hunt demons…?”

Your question seemed a bit perplexing to him, if not amusing. One of those white eyebrows raised again, arms crossed over his broad chest in a display of bulging muscles. You know, for someone who seemed to consist only on a diet of pizza--based on the numerous boxes on the floor--he was surprisingly fit. It did make sense that he would be physically proactive if it meant fighting creatures of the night and otherwise. And judging by his age, Dante must have been at this gig for a long time. Underneath all that lazy energy was a sense of tiredness, one that touched his eyes and the wrinkles around them. What kind of hardships came with a job like this? How long had he spent fighting demon kind?

Dante let out a low hum at your question, reaching into the drawer of his desk to pull out twin pistols for your view. Honestly, you had never touched a gun in your life, the closest encounter to one being the weapons cops and military used during the concert attack. Seeing some now felt strange, especially with how fancy these particular pistols were. Black and white, fairly big in size and custom made if your eyes were certain. It was almost...beautiful, even to someone who wasn’t particularly impressed with firearms and knew practically nothing about them. There were images engraved on the handles, showing the cameos of beautiful women.

“Demons in the flesh,” He confirmed, palming the white pistol a bit and holding it out for your inspection. Hesitation filled your expression, one hand reaching out to gingerly clasp the weapon and feel its weight. The words _for Tony Redgrave_ were engraved on the side, the gun looking a bit old fashioned all things considered, “She’s put lead in the skulls of more monsters than I can count, for many many years.”

You released an inquisitive huff of air, hurrying to hand the weapon back for fear of touching anything that should set it off. Your knee-jerk reaction made Dante chuckle, sticking the guns into holsters behind his coat and settling back once more.

“Not much of a fighter, are ya?” He observed, pushing off from the desk and heading back around to another pile of files.

Something about that way he said that made you bristle a little internally, head raised high as you replied, “Depends on what the fight is. I may not know how to shoot a gun, but I’m not the lie down and take it type either.” You had been through hell and back, fighting tooth and nail to get your life back to normal. That had to count for something.

_I’m not down for the count yet._

Dante nodded once at that, seeming impressed by your firm tone and determination, “Ain’t that the truth--regardless, maybe I’ll teach you how to fire a gun sometime.” He set down another stack, finally satisfied by his own efforts before walking by and patting you on the shoulder, “Hope you’re ready to get started ‘cause I’ve got a few errands to run.”

Oh no, the shock was back again. You stared at him incredulously, mind blanking out as he started to head for the door. Was he being serious? The devil hunter expected you to start now, and worse he was just going to leave you here alone after knowing you for less than ten minutes? It sent your head spinning, mouth open and various sounds of disbelief pouring out as you managed to grab him by the sleeve of his jacket to halt the departure. You hadn’t even been planning on getting the job, and now it was apparently your first day? What order did he want the files in? And where did he want you to put them? So many questions, too many questions.

“Wait!” You protested, meeting his calm gaze as it turned to meet yours, “You’re starting me out already? And just leaving me in your place alone?” _Are you insane?_ Was implied at the end of that sentence, but not spoken aloud.

It didn’t need to be--judging by the smirk the white-haired man wore, he knew damn well what you meant.

“Unless you have prior engagements, yeah,” Dante quirked his brow, side-eyeing you as your expression blanked. There was literally nothing else on your schedule, and he somehow picked up on that right away, “I don’t mind you getting a feel for the place by yourself--the doors will be locked while I’m out so it’ll just be you, kiddo.”

_Are you kidding me?_

You decided that the nickname “kiddo” was even worse than sweetheart, and far more annoying. But there was no time to complain about it, especially when Dante seemed hellbent on leaving. I was maddening, head refusing to conjure up any viable excuses to counter his words, not in its frazzled state. And to be quite honest anything that could be thought of would be an outright lie, you had zero prior plans and had spent a good majority of your time in the house moping. Well, outside of Kraven, Boris, and Celine forcing you places for events, or hanging out at Kraven’s house for funsies. To be completely honest, this was the longest time you spent not in the house in a very...very long time.

So you blanked again, fingers slipping from Dante’s jacket as you managed meekly, “Is there...any order you want the files put in…?”

_Christ, I’m becoming a pushover._

And Dante knew it. A grin tilted his lips, eyes alight with mirth as he said in a lazy reply, “Eh...by date I guess? Whichever way you want to is fine by me.”

With that, he started forward again, hands pushing open the double doors as he left you standing in the foyer in a state of confusion. The white haired man turned partially, giving you a two finger salute before slipping his way outside.

“Good luck, kid. I’ll be back soon--hold down the fort for me, will ya?”

With that, the double doors closed behind him with a solid thud, accompanied by a loud click as he locked them. Suddenly alone, terribly so in an unfamiliar place, unfamiliar neighborhood, unfamiliar territory. You were still rooted to the spot, heart pounding in your chest as the silence stretched on for a solid minute after his quick departure. Flabbergasted didn’t quite cover it, disbelieving didn’t either. Meeting Dante was like meeting a very lazy hurricane, one that seemed calm and chill at first glance before sending one rolling and tumbling in its raging winds. You were still dazed from the encounter, the whiplash of it making you plop down on the floor in that spot and hold your head forlornly. Christ, _Christ-_ -what had you gotten yourself into? This place was bigger than expected, and now eerily quiet to boot with you sitting there alone.

At least...you hoped that was the case. No one else lived here, did they? He did mention a brother, but gave no indication on whether or not said brother was home other than saying that it was “Just you”. God damn, if he was anything like Dante you were in for a bad time, the man was a bit much to handle at moments. You released a hefty groan, hands running up your cheeks and carding through your silken locks as you tried to gather the thoughts back together. Well, this mess was yours to handle--a change had come, and all you could do was roll with it. Everything else in your life had been that way, so why not this too? All the strange circumstances aside, the files lined the desk and floor in unceremonious heaps, no order involved. Best thing you could do was get started.

“I’m an idiot,” Your voice sounded so loud in the quiet space, despite how loud the statement was murmured. You stood up, groaning at the renewed weight on your prosthetic as it carried you to the desk where most of the mess lie in weight, “Kraven is not gonna believe this.”

You checked the time on your phone, debating calling the supportive male to tell him about the entire encounter but thinking otherwise when the time came into view. He and Boris would be going to the Zoo about now, so maybe a text would suffice. You sat down in Dante’s chair, wincing when it squeaked loudly in protest. Old, rickety, definitely in need of a replacement--It was paid no mind, your thoughts focusing on the gentle tap of fingers as you typed out a very carefully worded message to Kraven, because any wrong things said might spurn the vocalist to call you despite his date. And that was definitely not what you wanted.

_“Made it there okay, big boy. I uh...I already got the job, apparently. It’s a bit wild--I’ll tell you about it later. Smooches.”_

You felt satisfied enough with what was typed out, setting the device down on your desk and eyeing the stacks of paper awaiting you. There was certainly a lot to do, and by the looks of it there was no good place to start it. Dante did not seem the type to have a system of any kind, so there was bound to be inconsistencies. Which was only proven correct when you lifted a file, reading the writing scribbled on the front before appearing at another. One was dated--the other was not. Another had locations, others didn’t. A growing sense of exasperation started to temper your already confused thoughts, adding in a layer of anxiety as the files started to be spread out one after the other. Honestly you knew Dante for less than an hour and you already wanted to shake him a bit.

 _Son of a bitch._

“I am filled with regrets, captain.” You muttered to no one in particular, shrugging off your jacket before sliding down onto the floor to lay out files. Your eyes scanned the surrounding space, annoyance spiking at the mess that littered the wooden floor. Okay, first things first--the pizza boxes and dust had to go. The files were a seemingly impossible task at the moment, so despite not being a cleaning lady you didn’t mind straightening up the space a bit to ease the stress of what was going on.

You stood back up, looking around and wondering just where the hell Dante would keep a broom, if he even owned one. Not likely. 

_This man is a goblin._

Your search took you through the lower floor, an impromptu tour that you didn’t necessarily expect to have. The main area lead back into what appeared to be a small living room and hallway, a leather couch resting against a far wall across from a television. You noticed right away how basic everything seemed, lacking in any personal or family photos. A shelf held some strange knickknacks, but they were foreign to you entirely. Even the hallway walls didn’t wear anything minus a couple posters--one of a scantily clad woman, and an old rock band. You recognized them--they were before your time, but their music was fairly nice. They were paid barely any mind on your way to the kitchen, a sigh of relief leaving your lips at the sight of a broom cupboard on the far wall. 

This room was also a bit of a mess, but you weren’t touching that quite yet. Dante’s diet of pizza was growing more and more likely, much to your consistent dismay and heavy disgust. You tried to ignore it, making your way to the cupboard and praying to every known god and goddess that the absolute disaster of a man owned cleaning supplies of any kind--which, luckily, he did. Inside the little, dusty room was a small vacuum and broom, shelves lined with full bottles of cleansers that didn’t look touched at all. It made sense--someone must have bought these with cleaning in mind but fell short of the actual task, whether that was Dante or not you weren’t sure. Regardless, what was needed got taken and the rest was left in case of future uses.

“Captains log, day thirty seven,” You said to yourself, setting about the task with vigor and starting to collect any garbage found into a trash bag, “My hubris has finally led to my downfall, and now I’m a cleaning lady.”

_I’m also a bit crazier than I thought._

There was, obviously, no one to answer. But it made you feel better, damn it.

Time started passing quickly as you cleaned, straightening anything your hands could find and dusting every available surface. The repetitive tasks left time for wandering thoughts, but held enough attention to make sure things didn’t go off the rails too badly. Most of them collected around your new boss, wondering what kind of person he was and how many years were spent demon hunting. The occasional weapon hung on the walls on plaques, either things Dante once used himself or items acquired from various jobs. Between that and the neon signs, the room started to actually have a nice vibe when it grew cleaner and cleaner. The atmosphere reminded you of a bar, or various band hangouts that had been bounced between over the years of playing and touring.

There was something very cathartic about cleaning a very messy space, a deep sense of satisfaction filling you after the last swish of a mop traveled over hardwood. You pulled your hair into a ponytail at some point, making your way across the room bit by bit.The files were safely stacked on top of the two filing cabinets and the now-clean desk, waiting as the next hurdle for you to get over. It would have to stew for a bit, at least until the floors dried and the garbage bags were dragged away. You set about that next, peering around for any place to leave the bags that wouldn’t inconvenience anyone--the kitchen was the only safe place, bags placed in the broom cupboard and a reminder set on your phone to tell Dante about it. The following half hour was spent tidying up the kitchen and small living room, another two bags added to the mix and rooms much cleaner than they were before.

 _I can’t believe I came here, applied for a secretary job, and ended up cleaning their business_. Not that you minded--this was your choice, after all. Plus there was nothing really terrible about cleaning, it was just...relaxing. The exercise felt good on your legs, the prosthetic feeling a bit too warm at times but there would be time to air it out later. The sensation was nice, akin to ripping off your bra after wearing it all day in the heat. It was the one thing you promised yourself upon starting back toward the first area you cleaned, intending to check on the wet floors and see how they fared.

But before you could return to the clean room, a clicking sound rang out through the hallway, alerting you to someone opening the main doors to Devil May Cry. You paused in the living room, worrying for a moment that Dante may have returned to see you made zero progress on the files, but impulse cleaned his house. It hardly mattered, but it was still a worry, one that grew as you hurried into the main room to see who had entered through the double doors. But much to your sudden anxiety, a low voice was muttering before you reached the doorway, one that definitely wasn’t the devil hunter from before. Low, a bit more nasal and sharper in tone--it was released in a low, disbelieving growl that still managed to reach your ears despite how quiet it was.

_“What the hell happened in here?”  
_

His tone was incredulous, absolutely disbelieving. Honestly? You couldn’t blame him.

Reaching the doorway, you paused and stared at his face, nervousness spiking considerably as you took in the newcomer with fascinated eyes. He was tall, just as tall as Dante and carrying an aura far more intimidating--this had to be his brother, there was no doubting that silvery hair, eyes a cold blue that was a bit closer to grey and face handsome in a sharp, defined way. They definitely had good genes, that was for sure. You weren’t oblivious to the beauty of your fellow human beings, but it rarely made you stop and try to collect yourself in their presence. Maybe it was the air of hostility this stranger carried? Or perhaps it was the sword attached to his hip, clothing dark and definitely not your average everyday outfit.

A sharp jacket hugged his frame, a lined vest underneath and dark slacks on his legs. Formal wasn’t quite the word to describe it, but he was definitely dressed imposingly to Dante’s laid back jeans and leather jacket. Clean shaven too, less like a goblin and more like seeing a predator walk into the room and bringing that sense of danger with him. Speaking of danger--his eyes snapped up at the sound of your footsteps, meeting your startled gaze in the doorway with not a spec of recognition, which was normal considering he never met you before. You froze instantly, unsure of what to do or say considering that you were a stranger in his home. Dante definitely wasn’t the type to call ahead and warn him, that was glaringly obvious. This man was definitely more on edge than his brother, fingers twitching to the hilt of his sword in an instant and confirming that you needed to do something before he attacked.

_Just typical of my luck._

“U...um…” You managed to get out, clasping your hands in front of you in a show of non-violence as you continued quietly, “Y...you must be Dante’s brother--”

 _“Who are you?_ ” His biting hiss cut you off, your shoulders jolting when the words seemed to whip across the room like a javelin, “ _What are you doing here?”_

You were getting to that, before he interrupted. Christ, today was shaping up to be a doozy.

A sigh left your lips, last hints of patience waning and body slumping against the doorway a bit as you replied in exasperation, “My name is Y/N--Dante hired me as a secretary, so that’s why I’m here. But I spent some time cleaning first so I could have space to lay out the files, especially since they have no rhyme or reason to them.”

The growing annoyance in your voice was apparent, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, a scowl marred his already frowning lips, hand slowly releasing the sword’s hilt much to your relief. Well, that was one hurdle past. It would be a lot easier to talk without the threat of death looming overhead.

“Secretary?” He growled incredulously, narrowing those chilly eyes on you and sounding very impatient, “I was never informed of this--when were you hired?”

“....Today.” It didn’t sound true even to your ears, but the exhaustion in your tone definitely gave away just how tiring the interactions with Dante had been. He was a man best experienced in doses, at least in your opinion. 

This didn’t seem to be the answer his brother wanted, that scowl growing into a look of pure irritability as he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if the action would somehow bring forth patience, or the return of sanity in some form or another. You shifted anxiously in the doorway, eyeing the floor underfoot to make sure it was dry--this newcomer was walking all over it, but his shoes seemed clean enough. Now all that was left to do was those files, which you were anxious to return to if the chance was given. But something about Dante’s brother made you wary of sudden movements, he was way too twitchy with that Katana on his hip.

“Let me see if I’m correct,” The man growled, tone thick was annoyance and aggravation as he leveled his cold eyes on you again, “My brother hired you today, with no prior interviews to my knowledge. Left you here in the building alone with our possessions, and then proceeded with his job for the day without informing me of a single thing.”

Something about the way he spoke of you was very offensive, like you were already labeled as a petty thief in his eyes. That certainly would not fly despite how correct all his words were, and now validating it was to know that someone else found it all equally ridiculous.

You crossed your arms, one hip jutting out slightly as you protested, “I would never steal something…!” Your tone made his eyes snap back to your face, a flicker of surprise in those cold eyes as you continued, “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get back to work.”

It was only then did you approach the files stacked on the desk, deciding to ignore his presence after such a blatant implication was thrown your way. You couldn’t decide who was the better brother, this one or Dante, but it scarcely mattered. He kept his eyes trained on you, watching your form settle on the now-clean floor and start pulling down stack upon stack of sealed paper. Something about your actions seemed very strange to him, a look of disbelief making its home in his fierce expression. It was a shame that he was so rude--a pretty boy like that could definitely get through the world on modeling alone, or if he had any music talent girls and boys alike would fawn all over his fierce type.

You shook off the thought, trying to find some semblance of order within the files and failing to find a single one. Christ, the need and want to shake Dante was growing with every passing second. How did this place even begin to fare as a business with no semblance of order at all? The incident of the Qliphoth must have forced Dante’s hand a bit--you were willing to bet they could slide on buy on freelance work before then, but now that the government was involved a paper trail was a thing of necessity.

Much to your growing confusion, Vergil did not move from the doorway, continuing to watch you with a frown marring his lips. You did not meet his gaze, just watching out of the corners of your eyes and wondering just what the hell he wanted. This was all growing so very tiring, your leg overly warm and achy from walking around a couple hours. If this persisted much longer, you were going to lose every semblance of sanity and maybe get yourself killed. But before either of you could say anything, the doors behind him swung open again--part of you hoped it would be Dante returning, but two more strangers walked through the door instead.

A man and a woman this time--both complete strangers to you. Dante didn’t warn of them stopping by, but they seemed familiar with this place and with the man who previously insulted you.

_Oh dear._

“Afternoon, Vergil,” Greeted an older, dark-skinned male, tipping his hat lightly in the brother’s direction in a less-than-friendly manner. He had a cigar between his lips, wearing a snazzy suit and seeming unimpressed by Vergil’s impressive scowl, “Glad to see you’re cheerful as always.”

Vergil didn’t reply, interrupted by the woman standing in the doorway before any words could leave his mouth. It occurred to you then that she was staring at you, her irises meeting your worried ones for a brief moment across the open space. They were pretty--one green and one red. She herself was very beautiful, wearing a cute outfit of shorts and a blouse with thigh high boots--Dark hair, pale skin. Fair. She looked surprised to see you sitting there cross-legged, and even more so when her eyes traveled around the spotless room with complete disbelief. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“Who are _you_?” She asked, causing the two men to look at you now. Having all the attention in the room on your person wasn’t unfamiliar, but it still somehow made you nervous, “And what the fuck happened in here? I’ve never seen this place so... _livable.”_

Before you could muster a coherent reply, the dark-skinned man let out a light chuckle, walking toward you and extending a hand to help you up from the floor. It was accepted easily, your form rising up and jolts popping slightly with the motion.

The man’s words made you relax considerable, the only one there who seemed to have any semblance of knowledge, “Ahh, you must be the new secretary--Dante called to inform me of your presence,” He looked around the room as well, seeming impressed and wearing a bemused grin, “You’re a miracle worker, I can’t imagine having the patience to touch this nasty place.”

Vergil scowled again at his words, aggravation flashing in those cold orbs as he was met with the realization that Dante made sure to warn this man, but not him. Why that was the case, you would never know.

Regardless.

“To be honest, cleaning it was a blur and I barely remember it,” You replied with a weak laugh, the day’s exhaustion catching up now that there seemed to be someone who was actually informed of the situation, “My name is Y/N, by the way...I did mean to organize the files first, but...they’re just a mess.”

“Morrison, pleasure to make your acquaintance” The man, now dubbed Morrison, replied with a look of pure pity at your situation. This was definitely a human being well used to Dante’s bullshit by now, “How about Lady and I give you a hand? I usually find Dante all of his work, and she’s helped out on several of them.”

You paused, meeting her curious eyes again and hesitating. This was meant to be your job, right? Maybe it was wrong to drag other people into it, especially considering the fact that they just got here. 

But she seemed to read the guilt on your face, planting a hand on her hip and releasing a light sigh into the clean-smelling air, “Whatever, fine by me,” Much to your relief, she managed a friendly smile, winking her red eye at you as she added, “Nothing more fun than a group effort, right? We can chat a bit while we wait for that dumbass to return.”

Your shoulders relaxed considerably, heart pounding against your ribs in the remaining throes of anxiety in worry. Thank god there was finally a jumping off point for all this paper--you honestly didn’t know how to manage without the help of obvious professionals. Morrison pat you once on the back, chuckling lightly as he strolled toward Dante’s chair sitting in front of two stacks, a cloud of cigar smoke following in his wake. Lady met your gaze again, seeming very interested in you for whatever reason. Maybe it was the fact that you managed to clean up the main room of Devil May Cry, or maybe there wasn’t a lot of girls usually working here? Whatever the reason, a couple friendly faces was nice after the scare that came from Vergil moments prior.

Speaking of Dante’s brother, the surly man stalked past you on his way out of the room, sparing no passing glance in his retreat. You found yourself watching as he went, eyes lingering on the way the devil hunter moved--so strange, precise in every motion and fluid like a predator. His shoulder muscles shifted and moved under his jacket, tense even as he disappeared up the only flight of stairs with practically no sound. Christ, had you ever met someone so wound up in your life? There was something about him that made you sad, like staring at a creature who didn’t have the chance to relax in his life. Something about it made you really interested in picking him apart, bit by bit. To see what was underneath all that prickly exterior, if Vergil was even capable of relaxation.

_It looks like those lips never smiled in their life._

_But something about that...makes me very interested in taking on a challenge._

__


End file.
